


The House of God

by caitlin_roisin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitlin_roisin/pseuds/caitlin_roisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has lived in the same close-knit town for as long as he can remember. He knows everybody; everybody knows him. But then a hot girl and her equally hot brother move to town and Dean takes a sudden interest in Church, God and all things Christian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Dean hated being woken up early. He liked it when he could undraw his curtains and feel the scorching midday sun against his face, making him squint. He liked the cool breeze that seeped through the small crack in the window pane and made him smile. Most importantly, Dean liked slipping on a faded crew neck, wrapping a flannel round his waist and trudging to Benny's diner in his muddy work boots for an early lunch. The atmosphere at Benny's was majestic; he was always playing classic rock and he made the best burgers in town.

Dean had known Benny a long time, pals from when Dean had served briefly in the marines. The small town he lived in was full of ex-army types; Dean's father had settled here with him and his brother after their mother died and John, once highly ranked in his constituency, had had to give up his work to look after his boys. And he'd done a brilliant job of that, until last year when his unhealthy habits finally caught up with him and he passed away very suddenly.

Sam and Dean inherited the house they'd grown up in and had planned to live in it for mere weeks, quickly deciding the best thing to do would be to sell up and move on. Except that's not what happened at all: Sam didn't get accepted into the college of his dreams, and it's harder than it looks for a bisexual male in his late twenties to find a good job in a state full of conservative hillbillies. So they stayed; brothers became housemates and their once mutual sibling hatred flaked away and blossomed into an odd bond of sarcastic insults and the occasional chick flick moment.

Dean worked the night shift at Benny's, but was known more as the handyman of the town, fixing anything and everything. Most people knew and trusted Dean because of John, and it wasn't the sort of town where everyone knew everyone's business, so Dean managed to keep his private affairs to himself (mostly). He ate lunch with the town drunk and his odd housemate (whom he had no relation to but treated like an unwanted son) every Tuesday; Bobby Singer owned a scrapyard, and the owner of a scrapyard is a handy contact to have when you're in the fixing business. He spent his weekends in Harvelle's. Harvelle's was owned by Ellen Harvelle, as feisty woman with an equally feisty daughter. Occasionally he helped out behind the bar but usually he and Sam drank themselves dry in there.

Dean loved his town. He loved the white picket fences, the school, the church. But he'd never imagined it would be permanent. He and Sam had always agreed on on thing as children: they would never settle down in a town as incestuous as the one they'd grown up in.


	2. Tuesday

It was a Tuesday.

Dean's shift at Benny's started earlier on Tuesdays, meaning he had less time to tinker about the junk yard and maybe do a few odd jobs. He knew the school had a leaky roof and no janitor (Jo Harvelle was a teacher by day, barmaid by night, and her knowledge was often useful) and that a dear old nun living around the corner from the church had a busted boiler. Pulling on a pair of faded blue straight legged jeans, Dean padded barefoot down the winding staircase of the old house he shared with his brother. Sam had had a late night studying at the library, so when Dean caught wind of him completely out of it on the sofa he just picked up a tartan blanket and covered his brother's long body, to keep him warm.

Dean's mud caked boots were in their usual place, beside the cloak cupboard, and with a swift motion they were on his feet and he was headed out of the door. He got halfway down the driveway when he noticed a woman with burnt red hair and a nervous expression lugging a bag of what looked a lot like books. Dean picked up the pace of his walking and greeted the redhead, taking the majority of the books from her grasp and setting them down on the curbside.

"You okay there?" he asked, smiling kindly as the woman picked the books up and began putting them back into her bag methodically.

"Yes, thank you," she said quietly. There was a pause. "I'm from the church, handing out bibles. Do you want one?"

Dean frowned. "You doing this street?" She nodded. "Now?" She nodded again. "You should come back later, we're a full road of day workers 'part from my little brother, and the kid'll kill you if you wake him up."

She smiled. "Of course. I was wondering why no one was answering, I thought there'd be more stay at home parents down a side road like this. Picket fences and all. Thank you." She held out one of the bibles expectantly.

Dean shook his head. "I'm headed to work right now, how 'bout you save me a couple of holy books for later, when you come back." He winked.

She laughed. "If you say so," she turned around. "Well, thank you for your help...?"

"Dean," he offered, along with his signature grin.

She returned the gesture. "Anna," she turned back to face him. "Do you know, I don't think I've seen your face at church. How about you come along sometime?"

Dean shrugged. "No offense, but this God guy is supposed to be omnipresent, right? So why bother with a church? Surely everywhere is the house of God."

Anna looked at him. "Well, I, for one, don't go to church for God." Dean frowned. "It's a good place to meet people, Dean. A community like this, it's nice to see a new face once in a while. Think about it."

"Sure thing," Dean muttered as she walked away. Bibleless, he turned on his heel and made for Benny's diner, suddenly craving a double bacon cheese burger with extra fries.

-

"I'm telling you, dude, the whole "I am your father" think is way overrated. Besides, don't you speak German? You must've seen it coming, right?" Dean was wiping down the empty tables at Benny's, in time for their rush hour.

"That's not the point!" A short girl with blood red hair and a cranky expression slammed her rag down on the side. "Don't you get it? Don't you get how utterly heart wrenching it is? He's his father!"

The discussion had almost scaled into a full blown argument and if it hadn't have been for Benny coming out the back, brandishing a bread knife covered in ketchup, who knows how it would've ended. Dean and Charlie, the waitress who Dean had been debating with, finished polishing the booths until they could "see their ugly mugs in them" before opening up shop and getting ready for the joys of working in a popular diner.

After almost three hours in the sweatshop (sorry, the diner), Dean hung his striped blue apron up behind Charlie's framed photograph of Emma Watson and bid his farewells. As he walked out of the diner, the bell chimed faintly and he could hear Charlie's calls of annoyance. Dean rolled his eyes and waited patiently for his flustered friend to tumble out of their workplace, apron still tied tightly round her waist.

"You didn't wait!" she exclaimed furiously.

"I'm very sorry," Dean replied, leaning forward to ruffle Charlie's hair.

She slapped his hand away. "Will you be at the bar tonight?"

Dean shrugged. "Depends how Sammy is. He spent all o' yesterday at the library and he'll probably want to do the same tonight." There was a pained look spread across Dean's face. "He's workin' himself into the ground, Charlie. Beating himself up about not getting into Stanford."

Charlie chuckled and grabbed Dean's hand. "Ah, stop fretting. He's a big boy. And where would he be if he's gotten into Stanford? He'd still be hating your guts, that's for sure. You'd never have rekindled your love for one another."

Dean wrinkled up his nose in disgust. "Gross, Charlie. Stop making our relationship sound like an incestuous porno."

"Sorry," Charlie replied sheepishly, as they ventured down the road. "I've been binge watching Game of Thrones."

Dean smiled and they parted ways at the corner of the street, Charlie heading to her apartment complex and Dean going back to Sammy. He strolled down the pavement as the early evening sun beat down on him. It was silent until his phone rang; the tinny din traveling down the streets, only stopping when Dean had fumbled around in his pockets and found the source of the noise.

Caller ID said "Sam", so Dean answered straight away. "What is it? You ok?"

"I'm ordering take out," Sam answered, his voice muffled. "I'm thinking Chinese? Unless you want something else."

"Sammy," Dean said, an edge to his voice. "I'll cook for you. I'll make burgers or something."

"It's ok," Sam sighed deeply. "I'll have take out, you have whatever, man. I don't care."

Dean felt the irritation burn in his stomach. "Why're you doing this, Sammy? Seriously, we can't have takeout again. What happened to the health freak?"

Dean heard shuffling on the other end of the phone. "He didn't get into Stanford."

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, exasperated, and his brother hung up the phone. "Son of a bitch," Dean mumbled under his breath.

He picked up the pace of his walk, trying to get home before Sam (inevitably) went out, but when he arrived at the doorstep all the lights were out and it was clear he'd missed him. Dean knew he was either at the bar or the library, and both were places he'd be safe, so Dean didn't worry too much. He just wanted Sam to stop being... not Sam.

Dean figured there had been a girl involved. No one got that cut up over college. Sam had been attending night classes to confirm a place at the university of his dreams, and after the first week of going he'd noticed a change in his brother. He was happier; he radiated positivity and he often stayed out after night class, coming home in the early hours of the morning with a dreamy smile on his face. And then their dad died, and Sam barely batted an eyelid, so caught up in studying and whatever else he got up to after hours to realize that Dean was hurting, badly.

Then, when Sam didn't make it into Stanford, he fell apart. And Dean had to forget about his own grieving to look after his brother. Dean seemed to have to that a lot. He was always giving things up for his family, because they were his family. He didn't need any other reason. And family wasn't just blood: family was Benny, Charlie, Bobby and Garth, anyone who he felt he could count on. Sometimes, Sam felt like the least brotherly out of them all.

Dean fumbled with his keys, mentally thanking himself that he threw them in his pocket when he'd rushed out in the morning. He stepped into the house and threw himself down on the sofa. Kicking his shoes off, Dean leant back and grabbed the remote from the cabinet behind him and switched the tv on. There was a beer cooler next to where Dean was seated, and he picked up a bottle and cracked it open. Dean watched tv for a while and drank a couple of beers, and Sam didn't come home.

At about seven thirty, there was a knock on the door. Dean sprang to his feet, bolted to the door and pulled it open. He'd expected to see Sam, but instead a scruffy looking man stared up at him nervously. He had his hands full, and in the dim light of the porch, Dean couldn't tell what was in them.

"Can I help you?" Dean inspected the man, his eyes traveling from his feet to his face. He squirmed uncomfortably in return.

"I, um," he stuttered. "Anna said an attractive male named Dean helped her with some bibles this morning and I'm here on behalf of the church to say thank you. My name is Castiel."

Dean smirked. "Attractive, eh? Is that what you think?" Dean winked and Castiel blushed.

"Not my words; Anna's," he said firmly.

Chuckling, Dean stepped aside. "Do you want to come in, then? Help me find a nice dark place to stick holy book?"

Castiel went purple. "Was that a euphemism?"

Dean spluttered and took the bible out of Castiel's hands. He noticed the smaller man had also brought a bottle of wine. "Look, I ain't gonna drink all that myself, am I?" He gestured towards the wine, smiling. "And I was just playing, man. I'm sorry."

Castiel nodded curtly, blushing even more when Dean teasingly moved sideways slightly, meaning he had to brush against him to get inside. Dean followed behind Castiel with the wine under his arm. Castiel sat nervously on the edge of one of the dining room chairs whilst Dean found two (rather dusty) wine glasses from the cupboard and filled them with the alcohol Castiel had brought.

"So, you new round here?" Dean sat himself beside Castiel and took a long sip of his drink.

"Yes, my sister- Anna- and I, we moved here to live with our grandmother," Castiel looked down. "She's, uh, she's very sick."

Dean nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that." He missed a beat and Castiel squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "Family, hey?" He chuckled quietly and there was a brief pause. "So, your sister got the hot genes, I see," Dean winked.

Castiel rolled his eyes. "My sister has taken a vow of chastity and is to be a nun anytime now, so I'd consider her "off limits" if I were you."

"A nun? Nice," Dean smirked.

Castiel groaned. "Please refrain from thinking of my sister that way with me in your presence. I know you were! She's not there to fuel any of your kinks, thank you."

"Come on, man, everyone has a uniform kink, right?" Dean laughed an poured some more wine into his glass. "Unless your kink is more lenient towards, say priests? Reverends? If you, uh, get what I'm saying."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "My kink is financial stability."

"Mature."

Castiel finished his wine and Dean poured him another, then another. It became clear that he was an extreme lightweight; he was tipsy by the time the bottle was finished and Dean had drunk most of it. Leaning back in the chair, Dean observed Castiel.

He hadn't shut down Dean's assumption of him being gay, but he hadn't confirmed it, either. He was sat in an awkward position, his hands knotted together and his back hunched over. Dean scooted closer and leant over to whisper in his ear.

"So, that kink of yours," Dean bit his lip. "Care to elaborate?"

Castiel shuddered. "I was just joking, Dean." He swallowed. "I don't have a kink. I'm homosexual, I live with two nuns and work in a church where, ironically, both being gay and being a burden to nuns are things that are frowned upon." He pushed the stool back and stood up. "I- uh, I think I should go, excuse me."

"Cas, wait!" Dean exclaimed, but the smaller man had already made a bolt for the door. He groaned and walked into the living room, falling onto the sofa. And then Castiel appeared again.

"Um, there's a tall man asleep on your lawn," he said breathlessly. "And he keeps calling for you."

Dean slammed his fist down on the arm of the sofa. "Dammit, Sammy."


	3. Hospital

With the help of Cas, Dean managed to drag an inexplicably unstable Sam into the house. They made it to the living room where the pair heaved him onto the rug and sat down, breathing heavily.

"I won't lie, that's not how I imagined I'd be making you sweat for the first time," Dean announced suggestively, making Cas flush scarlet and drop the cuff of Sam's sleeve from his grasp. 

Sam's hand made contact with the solid oak coffee table, resulting in a sickening crack,then bouncing off the wooden corner and into his lap. The taller brother shot upwards in pain and, due to the alcohol he's consumed that was so blatantly the cause of his instability, fell headfirst into the matching oak bookcase, making the unit collide with his towering frame, and then the floor.

"Is this what death feels like?" Sam groaned, wedged sideways and trapped beneath the mound by an oxford english dictionary and a dog eared copy of Lolita. "Dean, I can see you, my life... it's flashing before my eyes..." Sam tailed off and grabbed his brother's freckled face with his one free hand.

"Get off me," Dean snapped irritably, his iron fist pulling Sam out of the sandwich of death and onto a clear space on the floor. "Sammy!"

But Sam wasn't paying attention to his brother; he was staring vacantly at his arm, which had become bent into a ludicrous position. And then he started screaming.

"Oh my gosh, is it broken?" Cas moaned, closing his eyes and backing away from the scene. "I'm not good with injuries. Is it broken?"

Dean wrapped his arms around his hysterical brother's waist and hauled him upright. "Do I look like a freakin' doctor to you? Come here and help me get him into the car, I'm taking him to the hospital."

The two each took a side and supported Sam out of the house and onto the driveway. Dean passed the keys to Cas, who unlocked the car and opened the door for the howling male. Muttering profanities under his breath, Dean pushed his brother onto the back seat and strapped him in. He then got into the driver's seat and started the ignition, but when Cas stood like an ornamental statue on the driveway, frozen, he wound down the window.

"Well, are you coming?" Dean asked instantaneously, and Castiel simply stuttered, nodded, and slid into the back seat behind Sam. "Make sure he doesn't move it."

"Move what?"

"His arm!"

"Oh, right." 

They sat in silence for the majority of the ride, with just a faint accompaniment of AC DC and Sam's quiet but worryingly vexed moans. Dean mentally thanked God that he hadn't drunk enough wine so that he was over the limit, and that Cas hadn't road shotgun and tried to make tipsy conversation. Desperately trying to ignore the fact he had an attractive nun's gay brother sat behind him, he focused on the road and eventually arrived at the hospital.

Dean parked on the side of the road (hospital car park prices are extortionate) and Cas, once again, helped him haul his brother through the car park and into the visitor's entrance of the hospital. He'd passed out midway through their journey; from the alcohol intake or the pain, Dean didn't know, nor did he expect a confirmation. He dumped his sleeping brother in a waiting room chair and sauntered up to the front desk.

"Excuse me," Dean said to the receptionist, and she looked up expectantly from her computer. "My brother had a nasty run in with an overflowing bookcase and he's currently passed out around the corner-" Dean gestured to where Sam was slumped "-and he needs a doctor."

The receptionist sighed. "I'm afraid we're awfully busy. You'll have to wait. Take a seat and I'll call you when there's someone available. Name, please?"

Dean frowned. "What if he's got concussion? What if he's dying?! He really hates hospitals and when he wakes up he's going to be cranky." Dean said feebly. "Can't we just get him seen to now?"

The receptionist glanced at Dean from behind her spectacles. "I'm afraid, sir, rules are rules. Your brother must wait his turn, like everyone else."

"But can you not bend the rules just this once, Mary?" It was Castiel; he appeared abruptly and flashed a kind smile at the receptionist, who now appeared to be in a state of apologetic fluster. And although the use of his mother's name made Dean flinch, he smiled too, because the beetroot colour of Mary's face was too funny not to.

"Castiel! I didn't realise! Of course your friend can see a doctor," she began typing away furiously at her keyboard until a notification chimed and she pointed to a door at the end of the corridor. "The doctor will see you now."

Cas smiled again. "Thank you, Mary," he said pointedly. "See you on Sunday."

"Of course!" she nodded. "See you, Castiel."

Dean and Cas went and fetched Sam dragged him down the corridor. Although Cas didn't say a word, the encounter with Mary had clearly left him elated. As Cas went to knock on the door, Dean stopped him.

"Who's this Mary, to you?" he asked.

Cas smiled, bemused. "You say that with such distaste. Why does it matter to you?"

"It doesn't," Dean shot back defensively. "She's just clearly some kind of fag hag, not deserving of your friendship or-" Dean almost held himself back but couldn't "-at all deserving of the name 'Mary'."

Cas raised his eyebrows. "Kindly refrain from using homophobic slurs, Dean, especially around, oh, I don't know, gay people. Ah, and small children. Also, she's very much more a Mary Magdalene that a virgin Mary; that I will admit."

"That's not what I meant," Dean mumbled.

"Is it not?" Cas teased.

"My mother," Dean said softly. "She was called Mary."

"Your mother?" Cas said playfully. "Are you implying you're Jesus?"

"No," Dean said plainly.

"Do elaborate."

"She's dead," Dean uttered.

Castiel turned away. "Of course. Dutiful use of the past tense. Softened tone when spoken about. Duly noted. I am sorry, Dean. For your loss, and for teasing."

Dean tried to look as forgiving as he could whilst holding the dead weight of a 6'4 caucasian male. "It's ok. It was a long time ago."

"If it makes you feel any better," Castiel opened the door to the doctor's office. "My parents are no longer with us. They died last year. Not that it affected me too badly; we hadn't spoken for many a moon." Cas looked wistfully sad as he spoke, and Dean felt slightly awkward, as though he was witnessing something intimate, something wrong.

"We can be orphans together, then," Dean said, and Cas looked at him. "Mother- Mary, obviously. Cancer; I was thirteen. Father, stroke, not too long ago. You?"

"Car crash," Cas offered as they entered the office. "Mother died on impact. But daddy, he was in a coma for two months before we decided to switch his life support off."

"Gristly," Dean stated.

"Indeed. He was a man of pride, was Mr. Novak; it would've killed him- poor choice of words, sorry- to know that he died with coma-breath and a lopsided moustache, only one of which being down to my deficiency with handling a razor. Don't even mention the piss filled bag that lay beside him all that time he was out of it. No bladder control, you see."

"And you can just speak of your dead Pa that way?" Dean inquired. "No... remorse?"

Cas shrugged. "They were my parents. I loved them. But gosh, did they make that a hard task to accomplish. First it was my ambidexterity; 'oh, Castiel, you are a child of the devil!', then it was the autism, a surefire, and the lack of excelment in outdoor activities; 'oh, Castiel, you are no son of mine, so abnormal, so inadequate', and then-" he chuckled cynically. "The boys. 'Oh, Castiel, you're gay? Gay! No son of mine is to be a homosexual! Leave! Leave and don't come back, you most certainly are not part of this picture perfect family anymore'."

"So- so you left?" Dean asked, shocked. 

Cas nodded. "I left. And Anna came with me. Looked after me; she's older."

"How old were you when-"

"Fifteen."

"Holy shi-"

"Samuel Winchester?" A strong british accent snapped the pair from their conversation. "Which one of you boys is Samuel Winchester?"

At the hearing of his name, a rather drowsy Sam opened his eyes and groaned. "Are we at the hospital yet?"

"Good Lord," said the doctor. "What on earth do we have here?"

"A bookcase fell on him," Dean said, placing his brother carefully into a chair. "And he is very drunk."

The doctor chuckled. "Well, that arm looks nasty. And the drowsiness could be concussion. We need to send him down to be x-rayed immediately. The concussion will most likely mean we'll keep him in overnight. Do you have his national insurance number, his medical insurance? You know the drill."

"They should be on file," a young nurse walked into the room. "I'll type in his name right away, Doctor."

"Thank you, Hannah," the Doctor smiled. "Now, let's get your brother a bed. It'll probably be for the best if you come back during visiting hours tomorrow, and leave us to take care of Mr. Winchester."

"Ok," Dean nodded.

"Eight till twelve, then six till nine," the Doctor smiled. "Just ask at the desk for your brother, and say he's in Dr. Crowley's care."

"Thank you," Dean murmured, and he and Cas walked back out into the lobby.

No one said anything until they reached the car and Cas went to sit on the backseat. "You can ride up front if you like," Dean said teasingly, and Cas blushed.

The car roared to life and Dean pulled out of his space on the side of the road. "Does he often do things like this?" Cas turned the radio down.

"Who? Sam? No," Dean paused. "Well, yeah, I guess, as of lately. Dad's death, uh, hit him a little later than me." The sentence came out more bitterly than Dean had intended.

"You have a great relationship with him, you know. You should treasure that."

Dean scoffed. "Hardly. Before dad died, he hated me. I hated him. But then we had to move in together, and he didn't get into that freakin' college... he relied on me. He still does."

"I know the feeling," Cas said, his voice small. "Although my brothers' hatred for me has, alas, not yet expired, they do so love to use and manipulate me for their own self gain. Not that that's what Sam is doing to you," he added quickly. "Apologies, Dean, that came out wrong."

Dean just smiled at Cas then focused on the road. They stayed like that until Dean arrived at the suburbs, "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"We should go out sometime," Dean said smoothly, taking a sharp left turn into a side street. "You ever been to Benny's? Best burgers in town."

Cas wrinkled his nose. "I'm gay."

"That's kinda the point." 

"But you're not."

"I'm not?"

"You're not." 

It was silent for a while. "What makes you say that?"

Cas paused. "You're just... not. Besides, you most certainly would've tried it on with my sister, given half a chance. My sister, a female. Hence my assumption of you being... heteronormative."

"Gee, Cas," Dean tilted his head in mock-sarcasm, "it's almost as if I like guys and girls. Funny, because in Castiel-land, that's not possible!"

"Sunday," Cas stated.

"Excuse me?"

"Come to church on Sunday. I'll be there, and we can continue this riveting conversation on bisexuality in more depth- and," Cas paused for effect, "the discussion can take place in the house of God."

Dean rolled his eyes. "This your stop?"

Cas looked out of the window and saw the church steeple in the near distance. "Yes, this is my stop."

Cas got out of the car and waved as Dean drove away.

-

At exactly 8:03am the next day, Dean was sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair beside his concussed brother, who lay like Jack Dawson was all but ready to paint him, except his arm was in a plaster cast and his face was bruised. Who knows, maybe Leo DiCaprio's interpretation of the figure had a kink.

"What're you doing on Sunday, little brother?" Dean asked casually, flipping through the daily newspaper.

"Nothing, why?" Sam turned to face the male.

"Well," Dean smiled. "You'd better get your glad rags a-ready. We're going to church, Sammy."


End file.
